Stripped

Several days past and my blog remained dead. I could not bear to think about writing.

I could not think at all. I was alone. I did not view any other blogs. I hardly left my bed.

Vanessa.

The thought of her was too painful to bear. How could something so pure, so real, so fantastic be stripped from my life? How could I know what she had written and what she hadn't? How could I ever trust my feelings again? Were they all in vain? Were they all for nothing but another's profit? Had she even been in the room when I knocked? Such thoughts appeared and then vanished as I struggled to erase her completely.

Love was not worth it, I decided. I had experienced this before, but this was different. Rather than driven to poetry or expression I was driven to nothing...absolutely nothing. I didn't want to share my grief, my sadness, my loneliness. All I wanted to do was not feel. I felt life itself begin to fade. I cried inside to hold onto it, but knew it was dying every moment.

It was my passion that was evil, that Jim could exploit. Such passion belongs to me, not him. I wanted it back. I wanted to feel again. I needed to share these feelings in earnest. I yearned to do so in beautiful, lyrical poetry, but how could I when I knew they would be ripped away and sold again? How could I volunteer myself to slavery, watching myself raped again and again? I could not do such a thing.

My blood was turning cold.

And, I knew it was my own fault.

The truth was bitter. I knew could not accuse Jim. Who would have sympathy for a man whose reputation with women was "Magnus the Conqueror?" I was apparently the envy of every male on campus despite my chastity. There was no evidence indicating I was chaste, only videos of apparent orgies, photos of me with naked women, and vivid stories written by multiple female authors. How ridiculous and inappropriate would my behavior appear if I accused and attacked these sweet girls? What shame would be wrought upon me as I drove them to tears (real or imaginary)? What man would excuse such a thing?

Actually, I could handle the blow to my reputation. It might have even been a good thing. I knew I didn't have the heart to do it. God help me, I cared about the girls, and was relieved to hear they got a few bucks out of it. Jim simply knew me too well. He knew I wouldn't say a word. It was an assured check mate. I don't have hard feelings for him, what good does that do? I could not go down that road. Never.

It was an obligation to forgive Jim, not just for his sake, but for mine. I needed to think very carefully before making enemies. I knew the extreme power one person could hold over another (my professors, for example). Common sense also reminded me of the deceptive dual-nature of perception. My thoughts and feelings are no less valuable to me because others use them commercially. They are exactly the same value to me as if the girls had never seen them. If they are true, they can have no price tag, they are priceless.

Their worth does not depend on mass market consumerism, criticism, or public perception. It is what it is. They are priceless to me, and if others find them valuable I am delighted, even if Jim intercepts the rewards. He is apparently far more interested in them anyway. Which reminded me...I needed to find the most suitable way to spend that $500.